August Rush
by RenaJ159
Summary: Renesmee, now Nessie Taylor, was given up for adoption at birth, and has spent all 12 years of her life at an orphanage.  She believes she can find her parents through music.  Can she do it?  Or is she just crazy like everyone tells her?
1. Music

**Summary**: Renesmee, now Nessie Taylor, was given up for adoption at birth, and has spent all 12 years of her life at an orphanage. She believes she can find her parents through music. Can she do it? Or is she just crazy like everyone else tells her?

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing :) This is my second Twilight story, and I hope you enjoy it. This disclaimer carries out for the entire story.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Music<strong>

I lay in a clearing near a beautiful pond, cloaked in trees and high grass – hidden from the rest of the world. I lay quietly: my body motionless, eyes closed, just listening. Always listening. I hear the constant splash in the water as the ancient koi fish make their tails glide - an ever present reminder that there is life in this magical place. I hear the swish of the tall grass as the wind causes it to collide with weeds and falling leaves, thrusting it forcefully side to side. I hear the music most people don't get the chance to experience. We over power nature's music by filling every moment of silence with useless chatter… or we ignore it, finding that handheld technology is more important. I was never privileged enough to have such things, but something tells me I wouldn't have used it even if I was. I am happy here, in my makeshift meadow, with nature as my personal I-pod. The music is always there. We just have to listen.

My name is Renesmee Taylor, but I go by Nessie. I'm twelve years old, and I live at Forks Home for Orphaned Girls; I know, it's a mouthful. The home is located in Forks, Washington – one of the gloomiest towns in the entire U.S. It is _always_ overcast and rains three hundred and fifty five days of the year, and snows the other ten. Everything here is green, forever retaining life from the never ending food source falling from the sky. I don't worry too much, though. I won't be living here long. My parents and I will be reunited soon enough. My parents were musicians… I can feel it, it comes naturally. It's the reason I love music. When I'm alone, it builds up inside of me. I believe if I can just… learn how to play it… they would hear. My parents would know, I'm here – and I'm theirs. Music has always had that ability – to bring people together. Why is this situation any different?

Everyone tries to keep me from it. It's useless, my parents are dead. They never wanted me. I'm a mistake, that's why I'm here. How could a stupid group of notes bring anyone back to anyone? It makes absolutely no sense, they say. Everyone at the home thinks I'm crazy… except for Emily. She's the only other person who believes my parents are somewhere out there – still looking for me. Then again, everyone thinks she is crazy too…

Emily is the cook at the home – at least that is what she is paid for. In actuality, she practically runs the place by herself with the occasional good deed from two ladies, who are never around long enough for any of us to learn the names. _Emily_ is the one who makes sure we are fed, bathed, and well rested. _Emily_ is the one who stays up with us all night after we had nightmares or a particularly bad case of the flu. She's the closest any of us have ever come to having a mother, and no one would dare try to deny it.

The other girls don't like her much because the right side of her face is scarred with three thick red lines from the hair line to the tip of her chin. The other girls claim it's because she is the devil's bride or something stupid like that. The truth is she had an unfortunate encounter with a wild dog, which are more like wolves around here… It could've happened to anyone.

The over cast sky begins to darken – signaling the time for my trek home, before the night turns everything black, making it nearly impossible to see a hand in front of one's face. I also have to honor my agreement with Emily. I'm allowed to leave to my little meadow (even though she doesn't know exactly where I go, just that I'm safe), as long as I return before twilight. I would really hate to be on her bad side…

~O~

I make it on time. I smell the oil heating up in the pan as dinner is about to be made. I hear our cook moving around the kitchen, no doubt to make sure for the umpteenth time that her ingredients are in order. I'm greeted, as usual, with a rude remark from a group of girls whose goals in life are to make the others feel miserable. Today it is Jessica – a shallow dirty blonde with an average face and slender build. She is backed by Lauren, who looks similar except her face is covered in self-caused freckle looking spots from when she had chicken pocks at age five, and ignored Emily's warning not to scratch. Victoria, the leader of this group, sits back in her chair on the porch; her wild red hair moving like a fire does its flames. She could be beautiful, if she would change her face to an expression that is not a scowl or glare – she intimidates most of us here.

"Look girls! The freak finally emerges from the wilderness. I don't know why she even bothers coming back; she fits in better with those animals than she does here." Jessica sneers at me again.

Victoria flicks her hair, as they all laugh, and smirks at me, "Maybe next time she goes, she can bring Emily, and we'd be freed from all the freaks in our lives!" and they all laugh again. I can feel all the glares and waves of annoyance as I walk passed them without any acknowledgement or a sign that I had in some way, been affected. Their petty comments have long since become old.

I enter the house, already heading to the kitchen to announce my arrival and offer my help in cooking or setting the table. Emily smiles as she accepts telling me about a surprise after dinner. I tell her about my day, and hum a little melody I made while I listened to the koi. Emily is delighted. She loves all of my songs, even though I never put any lyrics to them. She says I have this ability to create images as I sing, like today she predicted I was humming about a fish or water flowing.

Dinner passes without incident. All the girls line up as usual and get their meals, helping the younger ones get theirs. The room is filled with chatter about a random topic. Emily makes her usual rounds, making sure that everyone is eating – we always do because her food is amazing. Then she sits next to me and we eat together in silence – listening to those who talk. This is what is normal. Emily and I clear off tables and do dishes after everyone has gone back to their rooms.

My surprise is a giant wind chime strung together with several smaller ones. I'm not sure how it works until she takes me outside and holds it out to the sky. She shows me how the wind makes them clash together and create beautiful sounds. It works in harmony with the sway of the tress and the rain falling from the clouds.

"It makes beautiful songs, just like you Nessie." Emily smiles down at me.

She tells me it was one of her favorite "toys" she loved when she was a young girl, living in La Push, the Indian reservation a few miles away from Forks. Her mother would sing along with the chimes. She spends a few hours trying to teach me a couple of songs she remembered. I admire her mother – the melodies were complex, but with the perfect balance of everything that makes a song beautiful. It was part of the reason that anyone could listen to it a million and three times and find something different in each one – truly incredible. I thank her before she sends me off to bed, finally noticing the time.

"You're going to have a long day tomorrow. Sam Uley is coming down." She says to me.

Sam is from La Push like Emily. He is a social worker for Child Protective Services and comes by periodically to make sure we are all properly taken care of – of course we are because Emily is our care-taker. Sam used to come by with the serious face and judgmental eyes, but since he has seen how well off we are here, it's become more of a social visit more than anything else. She refuses to admit it, but Sam has a thing for Emily. I see it in the way he stares at her. She's not much of a victim in this romance either, whenever he notifies her of his arrival (always a week in advance), it is the only thing she talks about until about two weeks after he has left. It's been a while since I've seen that look of excitement in her eyes. One day, I tell myself, one day they will see it. When it does happen, I'll happily give a very smug look and childishly proclaim 'I told you so'.

Then I fall asleep to the old wind chime song from La Push, and dream of my parents and me in the audience of Sam and Emily's wedding.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read this. I hope you stick around for next chapter. Questions? Comments? Concerns? Thoughts? Leave me a review.

~RenaJ159


	2. 12 Years 16 Days

**Summary**: Renesmee, now Nessie Taylor, was given up for adoption at birth, and has spent all 12 years of her life at an orphanage. She believes she can find her parents through music. Can she do it? Or is she just crazy like everyone else tells her?

**Disclaimer**: I own nothing :)

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: 12 years 16 days<strong>

It wasn't too long before the sun rose, and it was a new day. I've already been reminded 3 times that Sam is coming into town, and Emily is too dressed up for a normal day of cleaning the house after the little ones destroy its neatness. Breakfast is larger than usual, which means that she's been baking since early this morning – a habit she channels all of her excitement into. No! She doesn't like Sam the slightest bit! I roll my eyes with exasperation when I see a plate set a side in the microwave. Hmm… I _wonder_ _who _it is for…

The house is buzzing with more commotion than usual; it's no doubt that by now everyone has heard of Sam's visit. I'm forced to stay at the house today; Sam has to meet with _every single one of us_, typically from youngest to oldest. I'm the tenth oldest person in a house of forty-seven girls, and they take a minimum of twenty minutes each, but it is almost always longer. I'm forbidden to leave until I've had my turn.

I wander about the house, trying to find something I can occupy my time with. I come across an old storage room on the left wing (the wing where few venture into due to the ghost stories Victory and her group make to scare everyone), everything is so layered in dust; I have a sneezing fit the first seconds after arrival. I start clearing off dust and uncover an old organ – it still plays, but the sound is too low, and the notes sound weird to me, but then again, what do I know?

I go through some boxes in a corner, where the light hides them in the shadows – away from the sun. It makes me wonder if the old couple the town bought the house from did it on purpose… Maybe there were some things they had rather they forget about? What secrets did the boxes hold?

The temptation becomes too great, and I start going through them. There are some old newspaper clippings and pages of magazines that I've never heard of, in a black photo album with a piece of yellow 'CAUTION' tape on it for decoration. I find an editorial on a rock star named Mick Jagger, matter-of-fact all of the pages hold something about musicians. I observe some hand-written side notes and comments on some of them, and figure it belonged to a boy – the script too ugly and messy to be a girl, and doubtful that an adult would use words like "sick', 'totally rad', or 'awesome'.

I also find a journal, which starts out to be a journal for a few pages, (proving my theory that the room belonged to a boy) then gradually formed into a lyric book with some scribbles of symbols on five horizontal lines stacked up on top of each other. The kid was really good, his words, (well what I could read of them anyway) were interesting to read although they were at most times dark and often ridiculed adults for not understanding children.

I lose track of several hours trying to put melodies to the words in the book, when I take a break from that, I realize that I had missed lunch. I find a wedding photo in between a 'Rolling Stone' designed shoe box. There was a gorgeous young woman in an almost equally amazing gown, her face glowing and show casing her flawless skin. She was holding a toddler with wild, uncontrollable almost bronze looking hair which he and the woman shared. A lot like the color of a penny. He was smiling crookedly with only two front teeth, reminding me of a rabbit, laughing as the woman snuggled him with her wide cheek bones. The man had a strong build, and looked like a very hard working man, but in his own way – very handsome. He beamed his own proud smile looking at the woman and the boy. His eyes giving away that this was one of the best days of his life. It had the date of their marriage and the names 'Elizabeth Masen (bride), Edward Masen Jr. (son of bride), and Edward Masen Sr. (groom). They don't sound too familiar, I remind myself to ask Emily later.

I spend so much time in the dusty room, I completely forgot about why I was trying to kill time. I jump as I hear Emily yell, and threaten the air what would happen to me if I left the house and disobeyed her rules. Without a second thought, I carefully put the shoe box where I found it in the pile, then go to ease her worries.

After briefly brushing aside her questions, Emily sends me off to see Sam. I can tell he's had a long day, he sighs a little when I enter the room we convert to his office when he comes. The greeting is a little forced as he picks up the file and says my name. When I greet him, he suddenly straightens, as if I'm a warden and he is a prisoner.

He clears his throat looking nervous, "Renesmee," he starts, "I hear a great deal of things about you… from Emily I mean, you're not in trouble or anything…" and he begins to ramble. I understand then, he's worried he won't leave a good impression with me – the child Emily is closest to. Little does he know, he's already done more than enough to gain my approval. I go through the normal formalities, asking about his day, and family at La Push. He answers politely, and then we get started.

"How long have you been here, roughly?" He asks.

I immediately answer, "Twelve years, sixteen days," because it was true, "I've been counting." I say to answer his surprised look.

He lets out this sound from his lips¸ whistling, I think I heard Emily call it once. Then he writes it down with a shake of his head.

"Have you ever thought about living with an actual family?"

I decline as politely as possible. Why get close to a new family, when my parents are just going to come and find me, claim me as theirs soon anyway? Emily missing me is enough, I don't want to have to add people to that list.

"Listen, Nessie," I've already given him permission to call me that in the past, "Most kids think, that if they leave their first home, their parents have no chance of ever finding them again. I want you to know, it's my job to make sure that never happens. You get me?" When I nod, he sighs again and looks down at something on his desk and writes something on it, "Look. This is something I never do. I'm going to give you my phone number. Anytime you want to talk about any concerns you have, heck if you just want someone to talk to, I'm here okay."

I smile as I take it, then ask him how he did that whistling thing. I think Sam and I had a bonding moment – we talked for a little while, until Emily (her flustered flour covered self in all her glory) made us take a break for dinner.

Sam seemed nervous – all the different kids coming out of the wood work all at once, I figure I could help him out. I know these two adults aren't going to get themselves together, it was up to me. I, very subtly, dropped a hint that Sam would be a little uncomfortable with so many people at once – maybe just for tonight, the family could spread out further than just the dining room – and offered my help to clean up, and search for any plates that fail to make it back to the kitchen.

I heard Emily compliment my idea before I was back inside dragging Sam, his plate in hand, outside to my favorite person here in Forks. They were able to take it from there – eating near candle light under the stars as they made conversation. At least one of us would get our fairy tale, I think to myself when I see Emily's face light up brighter than the North Star. I leave them to have time alone.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thank you to all those who reviewed last chapter: PinkPower, babygirl246024, Anonim, and Miss malfoy-cullen-madara II, I also want to thank all of those who read this and are non-reviewers._


	3. 11 Years Earlier

Chapter 3: 11 Years Earlier

**Bella P.O.V**

I stared at myself in the mirror. I saw a beautiful girl, her plain brown hair looking extraordinarily un-plain bouncing with life and shine. She was wearing an equally gorgeous white woman tuxedo– made of silk and especially tailored to fit her body and emphasize the important curves, a perfect outfit for a cello player in a professional orchestra of Julliard alumni. An outfit perfect for someone who is the star of the performance. Is it true, that this woman could really be me? Behind all the make-up, behind all the masks I'm forced to wear, am I really deserving of the things this images projects? I couldn't be more unsure.

My sudden and brief confidence in my new appearance quickly faded as my father and manager came next to me with his usual frown. He started lecturing me on how important this performance is – the make or break performance of my career; I owed it to him to do my best because of the money invested in my musical education, and what not. It was always this way with him. Every performance was important, always the make or break. After my mother died when I was young, this was the only thing Charlie had to focus on. My passion for music that she had encouraged became a business for him – the only way to remove his feelings toward my mother and his old connection to the art, while pushing both of their dreams on to me. We were never close after her death, and more often than not argued and fought over this subject. We only tolerated each other for my mother; she would have wanted to keep us together.

Alice, my loyal best friend since childhood, and accomplished musician and fashion designer; bounced excitedly behind the beautiful woman in the mirror, squealing that all her hard work had been for good use after the manager left the premises. She looked absolutely breath taking as well, in her black professionally styled low cut V-neck dress. She was the best violinist Juilliard has probably ever had; and the only one who has managed to get a double major (both masters) in music and fashion design and minor in graphic art design in the same six years. She has her own clothing line on the side, but uses majority of her talent making the wardrobe for the members of our travelling orchestra and designing the posters for all our events. We all envy her seemingly endless amount over energy.

Alice informed me of the time before we gathered with the other members for our back stage ritual. Always a finger warm up, breathing exercises, stroking of our egos for confidence, and someone usually throws in a prayer somewhere…

We enter left stage as earlier instructed; we get settled, mentally rehearse our parts in the piece, and continue to stretch our fingers. We all sit quietly in the one-way darkness – only we can see the audience while they wait patiently for the show to start – looking on as they greet their loved ones and dates for the evening. I catch sight of a beautiful man with the strangest shade of red-ish brown hair I've ever come across. It looked much like a penny and appeared that he stuck his head out the window on the ride over, although he somehow managed to make it work… He had the most tantalizing green eyes, with the face and body build most men would kill for. He took his place in my corner of the right stage, two rows in front of me.

I'm getting ahead of myself here…

My name is Isabella Marie Swan, a twenty-year-old graduate of Julliard Art Institute. As I said earlier I'm a cello player in an orchestra, and the life as I come to know it is about to come crumbling down.

It all started with that concert. I hadn't realized how disconnected and mechanical my life had become – the beautiful man had once again awakened my love for playing, and my love of music. I played from my heart, once again feeling the story that was incorporated in this piece Alice, the director, and I spent hours creating. Throughout the entire concert, I was certain we never broke eye contact. I've always felt the most vulnerable while I played this way – whatever I'm feeling is always on my face ready to read like an open book. His eyes seemed to see right through me, he understood me. The message was written in his eyes, in the soft crooked smile that had not left his face since my first note…

It ended before either of us knew it. Alice had to shake my shoulder to get my attention again – by this time, more than half of the theatre was gone, and the man and I stayed in our places staring… Alice forced me back stage; I caught sight of the door, the last image of the man as he exited with the rest of the audience. Was it wrong that my heart now felt heavy in my chest? I said my silent goodbyes, reluctantly, before settling in front of my mirror and my manager rushing me so we could go out to dinner.

Tonight, it seemed to be the big pay off my father always pushed me for, a big shot in the music industry had come to the show tonight. He adored my performance and offered me a spot in a professional orchestra constructed with some of the world's greatest musicians. Charlie, my father, immediately invited him to talk it over dinner. I followed behind as the two men discussed the business proposals excitedly as I quietly mourned my youth, my dreams, and the control over my life. It wasn't something I would be allowed to refuse – any dreams I had before now would have to vanish the second my signature appeared, inked on the contract.

The three of us were at the lip of the lobby, when I heard the voice of an angel calling my name. A voice better than an angel's I realized as I saw the man with a head full of messy copper hair and the breath taking emerald eyes standing in front of me with his crooked smile.

"Isabella." Was all he said to me as he smiled handing me a fragrant bouquet of red and white roses lined with cream-colored carnations and freesia blossoms. Oh. My…

"Thank you. Thank you so much…" I stammer out a few seconds too late, still recovering from the shock of his voice and the fact that he knows my name… "How did you know…" I can't even finish the sentence when I look up from the flowers.

He was a little sheepish as he answered, "I've seen it on practically every poster this week, not to mention the program… I didn't mean to come off as stalker-ish, my apologies Isabella."

I smiled realizing that he was human like me, and held out my hand to him, "Please, call me Bella."

He kissed my hand, and I swear, without the slightest bit of exaggeration, I died as he did so. He was absolutely unbearable!

"Bella," he smiled making me smile wider in turn because of the way it rolled off his tongue, "I have to say you were very well named 'Beautiful Swan'. I'm Cullen. Edward Cullen."

I laughed before I could even think about it and teased him for introducing himself like James Bond. He got me back when he claimed to be better, with a sexy smirk – a statement I couldn't argue much with. He complemented my talent, and I learned more about him. He was also a musician, a small thing he started with a brother and a friend from high school. Edward was a huge fan of classical music and made regular trips to the theatre for inspiration. He had lived in a small town in Washington before moving here, to New York at age twelve.

I was having the time of my life, talking in the lobby with Edward, when I had to take off the glass slippers and get back to reality.

"Bella! What's taking you so long, reservations are at ten. It's rude to keep our guest waiting. Didn't your mother and I teach you better manners, I'm sorry George, I don't know what's gotten into her! Bella!"

I wanted to curl in the tightest ball possible and die.

I gave a heavy sigh, before I thanked Edward Cullen and gave a strained attempt at a goodbye. He grabbed my hand before I was out of reach.

"If you'll still be in town tomorrow, I'd like to meet you. Ten a.m. at Central park near the fountain, I'll be waiting."

"I'll be there." Staring briefly, but purposefully into his eyes again before I ran off to my father.


	4. Prep Time

Chapter 4: Prep Time

Bella's POV

The morning came gradually claiming the sky from the stars and the moon lazily, in absolutely no rush. I spent the night previous begging Mr. Hamilton, the big shot music director, and my father for more time to "evaluate my future" before contracts were signed and my life sold to my father's dream. Then, after we left the restaurant, I had another argument with my father and again had to fight to stick to my decision on waiting. By the time I made it to the hotel room, I was too worked up to even think about sleep. I bought the entire season one (and what they had of season two) of the Vampire Diaries on Netflix and re-watched my favorite episodes, figuring some of Ian Somerhalder's witty banter would pass the time until morning rose along with my mood. He helped a little, but then I came to a realization when both seasons finished.

The Vampire Diaries needs to make more episodes…

At six in the morning I skipped my way into to the bathroom extremely excited I had enough time to get ready and order a little something from room service before I met Edward later in the park. It was the first time in a really long time that I felt excited to meet someone. I actually found myself trying to find something that would impress him, and I came to another realization.

I was in way over my head.

Fortunately for me, I had Alice. She stumbled out of her bed on the opposite side of the room grumbling unintelligible things, angry for being woken up from my frustrated curses at my wardrobe.

"Bella," she said my name slowly, "It's six in the morning. Why the hell are you so loud at six in the..."

Then she took in my flustered hair, my makeup done _willingly _(for the first time_)_, and my hotel closet in complete disarray.

"Oh. My. God! You have a date! And you actually want to meet him!" She squealed, her angry state long forgotten.

I didn't have to say much more, she immediately took over. The next thing I knew, she was taming my hair in a casual version of the way it was styled last night as she badgered me with tons of questions so she could find "appropriate attire" for meeting Edward in a few hours.

In the end, I was wearing a pair of black skinny jeans (though I had a feeling Alice made sure they were a designer brand), a soft grey V-neck sweater with a built in white shirt underneath, paired with a sleek black leather jacket, and ballet flats. It was a cute look, and I admitted, rather painfully, that I was comfortable and looked more amazing than anything I would have been able to put together myself.

Before I knew it, I was paying off the taxi driver standing in Central Park… waiting for Edward.

EPOV

Gosh, I feel like a girl right now.

I've been fussing with my hair, changing my clothes trying to decide if one look was too casual or too formal or… just stupid… for the last hour. I didn't even sleep last night – I've been so excited about my date with Bella today.

There was no doubt there was a connection in the theater. I don't think I looked away from her eyes the whole concert…and then when I met her in the lobby… she's was so down to earth. I'm not usually much of a people person, or a particularly talkative person, but I could've easily talked to her for hours had we not been interrupted.

"Get out of the bathroom already asshole!" Emmett yelled from the other side of the door, "What the hell man, you're like a chick today bro."

"Shut up" I yelled back a little hurt that my fear was confirmed by my insensitive douche bag of a friend.

"Give him a break! When you went out with Rose for the first time you were in there for at least four hours." Jasper's voice was a little muffled from where I was standing, but I was grateful nonetheless.

There was a really loud, angry banging that sounded through the apartment – the old lady from 6-B next door that was always on our case about one thing or another. "It's eight in the morning you hooligans, shut the hell up!" Hooligans? Who even says that anymore?

I finally give up on my appearance and step out of the bathroom. Emmett was being over dramatic and started sprinting in slow-mo for the bathroom, like some sort of "epic-bathroom time" or some shit. Jasper came out of his room connected from the small hallway in our apartment and beat Emmett. To give him credit, he probably wasn't paying attention and didn't know Emmett was going in there, but it was still funny as hell to see Em's reaction to the door slamming in his face.

"Asshat!"

"Keep that cussing up, young man! I swear to God I'll get the manager up and get you boys evicted! I'll call the cops! I'll…" Yeah we just tune her out after a while.

"She keeps swearing to God, He might stop being so lenient and damn her to hell already." Emmett muttered under his breath heading back to his room slapping my hand as he did so.

By the time I made left the apartment, it was only eight fifteen. I didn't want to seem like a total moron or too enthusiastic like some fan boy for today… An idea struck me to go get coffee first (for me and the lady, that's romantic right?) then hailed the cab to drive the scenic route to Central Park. With New York traffic, I'd be there about nine fifty to ten on the dot.

Here's to my date with Bella…

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So this is a _really_ short chapter, but the story has been dead for so long, I figured I should give you guys_ something_.**

**I think this was a cool EPOV. At least for me it was a little fun to work with in trying to recreate the relationship the guys would have should they be placed in a normal, modern, human society. No worries, Edward won't actually talk or think like that when he gets with Bella. It's a nature reserved only for his boys.**

**Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed this. Let me know what you think :)**


	5. Sea Turtles

Chapter 5: Sea Turtles

It all started when I stayed up late (making sure that Sam didn't screw up with Emily on the goodbye); ready to act as damage control, but pretending to watch a documentary: The Life of Sea Turtles. In the end though, I actually did end up watching it – and it struck a chord with me. The mother sea turtle migrates to a beach shore and choses a place to bury her young in the sand. Once the eggs are laid, they once again return to the ocean, leaving her young to defend for themselves. Fast forward a little over a dozen weeks later and the baby turtles that are fortunate enough to free themselves from the eggs and survive long enough to make it back to the ocean and repeat the process when they are old enough to have young ones. They say that most turtles don't make it back to their original families, rather live as sea nomads, but they tell a story of one particular turtle the scientist tracked that defied this theory. _He made it back._ He was the runt of his brother and sisters, born prematurely and most predicted to die, but he was the one to make it against all the odds…

Emily forced me to go to bed after it ended sometime after three in the morning. No matter how hard I tried to shake it, I couldn't. _He made it back_. The little turtle took it into his own … fins? And he found his parents. The next morning, I realized that I couldn't just sit around and hope for my parents to come find me in this tiny town. I was going to have to be that little turtle, and go out there and find them.

I also knew that it was going to take a lot of planning, and tying up a couple loose ends.

The next morning I started to plan my escape. I knew the one person my leaving would hurt the most: Emily. So that meant step one… was to find some way to mend to hole I was going to leave in her heart. I tear up slightly at the thought that I was actually doing this, but I force myself to be brave. I know I have to do this. I rip out a couple of pieces of paper out of a notebook I found in that abandoned room in the left wing – Edward Anthony Masen Cullen's old journal/composition book – and write a letter to Emily. I write down what I plan to do. I write to her all my feelings; my fear, my friendship, my regret for hurting her, my love, and my gratitude for everything she's ever done for me. I beg her to find it deep within her to understand and to forgive me… and to find it in her to move on. It ended at eight pages. I folded it, then placed it in an envelope to put in a box under my bed.

I found that starting with Emily lead me to the next thing that I had to take care of before I left, because I couldn't tell the story of our friendship without telling the story of Victoria.

~O~

Victoria and I were brought to the orphanage on the same day twelve years ago. I've known her all my life: at one time we were friends – up until I was age three and she five. I don't think I'll ever forget the day were we weren't. Victoria had gotten a little play Barbie makeup kit for Christmas and decided that she was going to make me over. Even then she was demanding and threw tantrums whenever she didn't get what she wanted – and although I knew it was true, I refused. Angry words and curses were exchanged and that night she talked some of the older boys to hold me while she sheared my hair off. _Next time, you'll remember that I get what I want and there are consequences when you don't._

When Victoria and her older goons left, I ran into a random closet and cried for hours. It so happened that Emily had started a week previously at the home. She found me in that closet, and it marked the day we formed an unbreakable bond: two misfits (my social awkwardness and newly damaged hair, her scarred face) finding a friend in one another.

My ex-red head friend didn't like the attention I got from Emily, nor did she like the fact that I was able to break her hold in that one decision. She was able to recruit the new additions and offer them a spot with her "clique" in exchange that they follow her every command and refuse to associate with me (Lauren and Jessica being the prime examples of members in this clique). However, I've never been one to interact with many people anyway. She didn't realize that she had pushed her fear of isolation on to a loner. So, she poked and pushed until she found the one thing that would rub me the wrong way: she spread rumors about Emily being evil and turned everyone against her.

Emily was always able to talk me out of my plans to get Victoria back, but I know this time, she won't.

I found my only other friend at the home – Seth. He was in the backyard which was more like a dark version of my meadow. He built a fort in the far corner camouflaged by a large group of trees. I sprinted to the door and gave him the special knock he told me to give whenever I stop by.

I don't wait long, he smiles slightly when he opens the door – immediately stepping to the side to welcome me in.

"What brings you to my office? If you just want to get away, I got some new games…" he took one look at my face and sat down, "But, you're not here for that." Seth concludes as he sits on his bean bag inviting me to do the same.

"I'm actually here to cash in… well, all of my favors. There are a couple of things I need taken care of, and I can't make sure they stay that way by myself." He strokes his cheek in thought, then asks me to elaborate. I didn't have to do much to get him to help me; firstly because he _did_ own me _a lot_ of favors, and secondly, because he understands.

Seth was the first boy to enter Forks Home for Orphaned Girls (which was supposed to change the name to orphaned children, but someone dropped the ball…) around five or six years ago. He was from La Push like Emily before he lost his parents in an unfortunate airplane crash. He is also the only other person here who shares a special connection to our caretaker; the only one who could possibly offer her comfort once I'm gone… but that's not the only reason I chose Seth. He is one of the few who managed to untangle themselves from Victoria's web and the best practical joker there is. After more than six years of strained passive nature – I'm going to get her back before I leave.

"Okay. I understand you wanting me to run damage control with Emily, but you're sure this isn't overboard for something Vick did to you a long time ago?

I take a minute to really consider what he asks… but in the middle of that – I get flashbacks on the late nights with Emily crying (sometimes in her sleep, others while she was awake) because the little children screamed and cried in fear of her due to one of Victoria's false stories. I remembered the light dimming in her eyes whenever one of Victoria's goons say they hate her or repeat the latest rumor to her face to make their leader happy. _I do_ want to get her back, but not just because of what she did _to me_.

He went back to planning without any further questions. When we finish, he grabs my hand in between both of his.

"You'll come and visit me before you go won't you?" It felt like the combination of his hands and eyes on me were burning me on the inside. My throat tightened and I struggled to blink back tears, once again realizing that I was betraying yet another friend by going through with this.

"Ness?" he took one hand and put it on my cheek, pulling my head up until my eyes met his. I was assaulted with memories running around in the backyard playing some adventure game, and building the fort we are currently under and Seth's reaction to the first time I showed him my meadow, and once when he protected me from one of the older boys, and making a pledge in the living room after we sneaking some ice cream to always be in each other's lives… So many memories we had together, and we may never see each other again. The tears started to fall without my consent and I nodded frantically as I gasped out a yes.

~O~

It took us almost a week before we got the opportunity to confront Victoria. Seth had set her alarm so she woke up at least two hours after everyone else (Lord knew her SNOOZE button was overly abused, and it took her forever to get out of bed), giving all the others enough time to be out of our way – also to insure we don't harm any innocents. The shower head was rigged and all was left to watch the whole thing unfold before our eyes.

About a half hour after Seth gave the signal we were on board, we heard it.

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" Victoria's annoying shrill scream echoed all throughout the house and a tall red headed figure ran out of the bathroom in her white towel contrasting greatly with her now died dark purple body and her even brighter red hair.

Seth leaned down and slapped me a high five.

"And how exactly did you turn her purple again?" I asked in awe watching our, well Seth's, masterpiece run through precisely as it did on paper.

"Kool-Aid in the shower head and her shampoo had a little honey mist auburn dye from a faulty hair manufacturer. Vick will be stuck looking like that for at least a week. The best part is that she won't know who did it – all witnesses are her number one and two enemies here. They have three or four other pranks planned this week in celebration," My best friend smiled at me with a hint of sadness behind the eyes, "How's that for a lifetime of favors and your going away present?"

I hugged him, as hard as I could. It was _perfect_.

~O~

Later that night, Seth and I stayed in the fort – partly because I don't think either of us had the heart to be around Emily tonight. Seth had been relatively quiet the whole night; settling just to share a big bean bag chair with me as we attempt to pass the time playing W-A-R and Speed with our favorite deck of cards – see through, flexible, and Heath Ledger as the Joker printed on the front. Occasionally I receive a question about my impending departure.

"Do you know where you'll go? I mean where does one choose to start the search for long lost parents, if they are even out there?" I stared at him in silence… I did understand how my plan sounds crazy and absolutely unrealistic, but it makes sense to me. I suppose I stared too long because Seth started to panic, "What? I'm not trying to be negative or anything, I just want to know. Okay, maybe I was a little harsh on the last part – about your parents not being out there, but –"

I put my hand on his to get him to stop. I have a plan, but tonight I just want to spend some time with my friend while I can.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: This one goes out to PatrickChanFan who requested Ness should get Victoria back. Sorry if the prank was a little lame, but I figured they're still pretty young - not quite so diabolical yet.**

**Review and leave me suggestions of stuff you might want to see. (No guarantees I'll be able to squeeze it in though. Fair warning).**

**Thanks for reading!**


End file.
